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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26655601">Offer Up My Hand</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantoscripts/pseuds/phantoscripts'>phantoscripts</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Benny Lafitte (briefly mentioned), Castiel/Dean Winchester OneShot, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Domestic Castiel/Dean Winchester, Episode Tag, Episode: s15e07 Last Call, Episode: s15e09 The Trap, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Selectively Mute Dean Winchester, post purgatory</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 09:28:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,537</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26655601</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantoscripts/pseuds/phantoscripts</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Silence is amongst them. He feels Cas’ gaze fall and drift toward him, whilst Sam nods with a clenched jaw before departing. Dean bows his head, his finger tracing the rim of a glass half empty … Will they find another way? Will he and Cas find a way?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel &amp; Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Offer Up My Hand</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Solo inspired by season 15, a mixture of episodes — ending to Last Call and then The Trap. The song Lost in the Crowd by Shinedown also played a part in this emotional ... Thing-a-ma-jig. I just needed somethin' to release my personal feelings. What better way to do it than with Dean and Castiel, and their hopeless romantic journey? Hope y'all enjoy. I'd deeply appreciate your thoughts.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Well, then we find another way.”</p><p>Silence is amongst them. He feels Cas’ gaze fall and drift toward him, whilst Sam nods with a clenched jaw before departing. Dean bows his head, his finger tracing the rim of a glass half empty … Will they find another way? Will he and Cas find a way? Ignoring the thought he rises from his seat, whisking his glass along with him as he seeks the Tennessee whiskey perched upon the counter.</p><p>His mind begins to wander.</p><p>
  <em>“Hey,” Dropping his baggage on the table, he meets Castiel from across the distance of the map table. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Dean.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I got your message. Sam , is he━━”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“He’s fine.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And that was all she wrote. Breath stutters as his heartbeat stumbles. Castiel is before him, looking pure as ever. But behind blue eyes — misery, timidity, pleading, longing. Dean ain’t the greatest at emotions; in fact, he avoids it like the plague. Right now, there is a weight among his shoulders and his chest as he reads Castiel. Words hang at the tip of his tongue. ( “And you? Are you fine? Cas, look at me. I’m sorry. I know it might not mean shit now, thanks to my stupid pride. But, I'm sorry. I didn't mean what I said. I didn’t mean to dump it all on you. Angel … talk to me. I need to know you’re okay, because this━━ this is fucking haunting me.” )</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Good.” That was all he could screw up. “That’s good.” Goddammit, does he deserve to be stricken. Evident by the dismay that gleams in the angel’s eyes, which is followed by a faint, “Yeah,” before he leads them to the infirmary. Dean feels his heart falter. </em>
</p><p>Bile seethes in the pit of his stomach. Twisting the stopper he sets it aside, tilting the bottle and watching amber colored liquor stream into his glass. Once satisfied, he withdraws the Jack, lifting his stare to Castiel and finding himself longing for him just as he was merely days ago. Abandoning this pathetic excuse of a coping mechanism and instead embracing Cas, burrowing himself in his shoulder and letting loose of all that has been buried, hidden, seems ideal rather than continuing to cower in some sort of poison. However, he can’t do it … Not without thinking, <em>he’d lose it all in a matter of time.</em> Or the belief that he is unworthy of an angel of the Lord to begin with━━━or, an angel that once served the Almighty. An angel who got in his face and said, <em>“I’m hunted. I rebelled. And I did it, all of it, <strong>for you.</strong>”</em> Now, he is like the rest of them; albeit celestial, powerful, graceful. Words that Dean would not dare to utter, but man, he wishes he had the courage. ‘Specially when Castiel is a few feet away, head down, fidgeting with his fingers, hopeless and confused.</p><p>There is sympathy for the angel. Dean averts his eyes, calloused digits curling round the tumbler and raising it to roughened lips, cauterizing his desires and sorrows with a smooth and smoky sweetness, enlivened by hints of spices. It burns like a mother cascading the back of his throat. He bites his palate, pushing away from the counter to stride back to Cas. Except … He leans against the structure, sliding to the floor, crossing his ankles and resting his head on cold, hard metal. If nobody knew better, he’d be deemed as a drunkard right about now. But that is not the case. Although he has <em>faith</em>━━━something he had no guess of finding━━━hopelessness and confusion clouds his judgment just as much, if not more. Once again he asks … Will he and Cas find a way? They got bigger fish to fry, but since passing from purgatory and back into this world, the question has been gnawing at him.</p><p>
  <em>Not a damn thing has changed in this realm. The realm of darkness, yet purity. Dean had hoped they would stumble across Benny; whom he expected to be King of Purgatory by now━━━and trudge through these everlasting darkened woods, chopping heads and sending caps through these sons of bitches, just like old times … But no. Benny met his match and Dean has lost Castiel. How peachy. As if his remorse does not sink further. No time to mourn, however, for the clock is ticking and the rope is stretching thin.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“No, no, no …” His fear spills in whispers. Swallowing the knot in his throat, he surveys his surroundings before exhaling, “Cas? Cas, I hope you can hear me … That wherever you are, it’s not too late. I━━I should’ve stopped you. You’re my best friend, but I just let you go. ‘Cause it was easier than admitting I was wrong━━” There is a prickling in his eyes. His ribcage rattles as he shudders. Body is rigid until there is a hiss and tears trickle down his cheeks. Sniffling, he kneels at the base of the tree, a shard of wood slicing the heel of his palm. But he couldn’t care less. “I━━I don’t know why I get so angry. I just know━━I know that it’s━ … i–it’s just always been there. And when things go bad, it just━━━it comes out. And I can’t━━I can’t stop it. No matter how━━ … how bad I want to, I just can’t stop it. And━and I━━I forgive you. Of course I forgive you! I’m sorry it took me so long … I'm sorry it took me ‘til now to say it. Cas, I’m━━I’m so sorry. Man, I hope you can hear me … <strong>I hope you can hear me.</strong>”</em>
</p><p>“Dean.”</p><p>Mind is racing. Vision is blurry. Breathing is heavy. Hands are shaking and alcohol is staining his shirt, his jeans, the floor. Throat is tightening and his voice has become lost.</p><p>“<em><strong>DEAN!</strong></em>”</p><p>Jolting backwards, Dean bangs his head against the counter as the glass falls from his grasp and shatters. Distress manifests ‘pon his features. He attempts to scramble but he is halted by a feathery touch. With caution, he looks and discovers Castiel staring at him, concerned, yet reassuringly. And that ignites something deep inside of him. Tears threaten to roll. But he keeps it at bay, instead leaning back and breathing in, then out — an exercise Sam taught him. Typically this crap doesn’t aid him; Cas’ hand on him seems to create an antidote. However, his heart still aches. They’re gonna go battle royale on God and he can’t brave himself to say three words to an angel who rebelled. Words he has been holding back for what feels like a century. Actions he’s restricted himself from acting upon. Yearning for, ( “<em>━━━things, people, feelings that I want to experience differently than I have before. Maybe even for the first time.</em>” ) … He recalls his confession to a priest some years ago.</p><p>Squeeze on his arm brings him back to earth. Emerald irises meet those of sapphires. Dean presses his lips in a thin line, fiddling with the skull prayer bead that was gifted to him sometime at the beginning of this road. Castiel moves his hand tenderly along his arm, stopping where his handprint lies forevermore. And, shit, Dean knows it is stupid, but it causes his breath to hitch. Followed by a sense of humility when he notices the ghost of a smile peeking from Cas’ lips ━ although it quickly disappears. ( “<em>Somethin’ wrong?</em>” ) He ponders, ‘cause seldom does he see him smile anymore.</p><p>His thoughts scatter and his body tenses when Cas grasps his shoulder, gliding his palm to his neck, across his jaw, and stroking the scar on his brow, leading down to the smaller mark on his cheekbone. Their gazes are locked until Castiel touches another scar on his nose, then caresses his cheek. Dean can’t resist this … He can’t miss this. Closing his eyes he leans into his hand, fighting back tears that swell. He wants to say it — those three words. He wants to open up his heart and let the two of ‘em stumble into something real. But, does Cas want it? While they are having a moment right now, he needs that assurance. Despite all these years of bickering, declaring sacrifices, and walking away only to come right on back … he needs to know that Cas will stay for the long haul. For the brokenness of a soul that may never heal.</p><p>“We’ve been through much together, you and I.” Dean hears him. There is a flash of that memory. It makes him flinch. Emotions attempt to rise, but again he shrugs it off. He simply presses his nose into Cas’ hand, not wanting him to let go of him, even if he can read his stubborn mind. “… I forgive you, Dean.”</p><p>Gripping his wrist, Dean digs his nails in his skin━━━damn near drawing blood. Chin quivers before a tear streams down his cheek and into <em><strong>his angel’s</strong></em> palm. Although, there is a smirk … Small, yet genuine. Heartfelt. That was all he needed — a subtle promise. Breathing a sigh of relief, he raises his other hand to grasp Castiel’s wrist.</p><p>Guess they’ll stay here, smelling of Tennessee whiskey and bottom dwelling nasties.</p><p>And finding a way together.</p>
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